The Emotions List
by prettypurple
Summary: A version of the "100 Themes Challenge" that I found. This will focus mainly on Sideshow Bob.
1. 11-Inspiration

"_The Simpsons" is property of Matt Groening and Twentieth Century Fox._

* * *

Back when Bob was still Krusty the Clown's sidekick, his favourite time of day was around six o'clock, when he came home after the show. It was the longest amount of time before he had to return to the studio and be humiliated on live television, as well as watch the rotting of the unfortunate young minds in the audience as they laughed at Krusty's inane antics. Bob always book-ended his day by making his favourite comfort foods, peppermint tea and toast with marmalade, and then sitting down to listen to classical music and read _The Springfield Review of Books. _About twice a week, he would talk to at least one of his parents on the phone, which he sometimes dreaded almost as much as having to go back to Krusty's studio; they kept badgering him to make amends with Cecil, especially his mother, Judith.

One morning, Bob was about to have his breakfast, and then a shower (he always did those two things in that order, to get his strength up for the grueling couple of hours required to thoroughly wash, dry, and comb his huge red hair), when he was interrupted by the ringing of his telephone.

Bob glanced at his clock; the time was twenty-eight minutes after seven.

"Mother, we've discussed this," he muttered aloud, glaring at the phone. "Half past seven _exactly_."

The phone kept on ringing.

"I'm not awake yet, Mother," Bob said through clenched teeth. He waited another thirty seconds or so, then reluctantly picked up the phone. "Hello, Mother."

"Hello, Robert, darling. How are you?" Bob could picture his mother, Dame Judith Underdunk-Terwilliger, sitting primly in a silk kimono or chiffon peignoir on the velvet settee in the Capital City penthouse that she shared with Bob's father, and Bob was grateful that his mother could not see him with disheveled hair and wearing nothing but a purple bathrobe and boxers.

"Still the punching bag of an illiterate, chain-smoking clown. And no, I don't want to talk to or about Cecil. " In last year's obligatory Christmas card to his brother, Bob had questioned Cecil on whether he had ever actually watched _The Krusty the Clown Show _at any point during the past decade or so, he would realize that being Krusty's sidekick was an unenviable position.

"I merely called to give you some advice, darling," said Judith, "but if you don't want it..."

"I do!" said Bob, a little louder than he'd intended. "Please tell me, Mother!"

"Did I ever tell you about the first play in which I starred?" Judith asked.

" _Romeo and Juliet, _was it not?"

"Yes, but I did not immediately get the role of Juliet. Despite doing swimmingly at my audition, the director believed that I did not have the right look for the part." Bob could easily imagine his mother looking into her gilded hand mirror and staring ruefully at the bizarre hair that Bob, and to a lesser extent, Cecil, had inherited from her. "I did, however, become the understudy to the actress playing Juliet. That was not good enough for me, so I had to resort to some..._underhanded _means to get what I wanted."

"What did you do?"

"Shortly after production began, many of the props and a gold watch that the director considered to be his good luck charm went missing, and-"

"You stole them, didn't you?"

Judith was briefly silent. "...Yes. I planted all of the stolen items in the leading lady's dressing room, she was arrested, and I was able to play Juliet. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you, darling?"

Bob's eyes were resting on the poster of Krusty the Clown at which he sometimes threw darts. "Yes, Mother, I believe so. Thank you very much."


	2. 16-Horror

There was something that Bob felt he would regret for the rest of his life, and it wasn't even one of his evil deeds.

It happened about four years before Bob snapped...

* * *

"Wasn't that a great _Itchy and Scratchy _cartoon, kids?" Krusty said cheerfully to his audience. "We've got another one coming right up, but first, I've got a hankering for some pork products!"

That was Sideshow Bob's cue to put on a chef's hat and wheel out the barbecue covered in pork products.

"Mmmm, look!" said Krusty. "Plump, succulent sausage, honey-smoked bacon, and glistening, sizzling-"

Suddenly, Krusty gasped, clutched his chest, and dropped to the floor.

_Oh, Herschel Krustofsky,_ Bob thought with contempt,_ faking a heart attack is a new low, even for you._

The cameramen and the kids in the audience were laughing uproariously, believing, like Bob, that it was just a joke. But when Krusty didn't immediately get back up, Bob finally became a tiny bit concerned. It was very unlike Krusty to hold up a joke for this long, especially when there were delicious pork products nearby.

Bob had to check on Krusty without breaking character (his contract forbade him from communicating with anything other than his slide whistle during a show, under any circumstances, for as long as he was Krusty's sidekick). He ran up to Krusty's inert form, poking at him with his large foot and making quizzical noises through that stupid wind instrument, as the children kept laughing.

_Oh dear! _Bob thought with increasing dread. This was almost as if God was punishing Krusty for his non-kosher diet (Bob was one of the only people at the time who knew that Krusty was Jewish).

Bob almost grabbed a piece of bacon off the grill to hold under Krusty's nose in an attempt to revive him, but thought better of it. He gave the cameramen Krusty's "Go to commercial!" gesture and ran to call 911 on the backstage phone, inwardly cursing the bystander effect that seemed to have plagued everyone else.

Bob later wished that he'd been affected with it, too.


	3. 73-Pity

Krusty's assistant, Lois Pennycandy, was a mostly sweet-natured woman, and though Bob didn't really hold anything against her, and even sometimes pitied her (as Krusty treated both Bob and Lois quite shabbily), there were times when he couldn't resist being nasty to the poor thing.

After one show, which Krusty had decided to "end with a BANG!" (i.e., end by shooting Sideshow Bob out of a cannon), Lois gushed, "That was a wonderful show, Krusty! I laughed so hard at the last bit with Sideshow Bob and the ca-"

"Yeah, whatever," Krusty interrupted. "I'm out of _Laramies._"

Lois handed over the extra cigarette packet that she had on her person just for him, and walked alongside Krusty on his way to his dressing room, going through the daily routine of her reading off of his schedule and Krusty automatically snapping, "Cancel it!" to nearly everything.

Krusty slammed the door of his dressing room, and Lois sighed. Bob approached her from behind and cleared his throat, causing her to jump.

"Forgive me for startling you, Miss Pennycandy," Bob said coolly, "but I merely thought you should know that getting shot out of a cannon for the sixth time this month was not so funny to _me._"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Bob," Lois said sincerely. "I suppose there are a lot of things that are only funny when they happen to other people."

"Yes," said Bob, "but are we not all 'other people' to other people?"_  
_

"I suppose we are," Lois said thoughtfully. "I never though of it that way." She stole another sad glance at Krusty's dressing room door; it sounded as though he was yelling at someone on the phone.

"Whatever do you see in him?" Bob couldn't resist asking.

Lois was caught off guard. "What are you-?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Miss Pennycandy. I see the way you're always looking at Krusty, and why else would a woman outside of this puerile program's target demographic find Krusty's act humorous? I feel sorry for you, Miss Pennycandy. I really do. You're so infatuated with Krusty that you cannot see what a sad, pathetic, vulgar, self-absorbed wreck of a man that he truly is. I'm not surprised that you're still a 'Miss'."

Poor Lois was now in tears. "Oh Bob, why do you have to be so cruel?!" She covered her face and ran off in the direction of her office.

Krusty opened the door. "Hey, Bob, what the hell's going on out here?"

"Nothing," Bob said innocently. _He humiliates me in front of a live audience every weekday, and Pennycandy calls ME cruel?_


	4. 65-Neglect

Little Gino Terwilliger was in his bedroom in his parents' London flat, drawing pictures of various gruesome deaths for the Simpson family, especially Bart, to give to his papa.

"Die, Bart! Die, Bart!" he shouted, using his now dull red crayon to scribble all over his drawing of Bart.

* * *

In his study, Bob was going over a new plan to sneak back into America and get to Springfield when he heard the faint sound of Gino crying, and it was coming closer and closer. When the door burst open, Bob angrily turned around in his chair and snapped, "Gino, how many times has Papa told you not to interrupt him when he's-"

Sniffling, Gino held his finger up for his father to see. Bob took a look and sighed impatiently.

"It's only a tiny paper cut, nothing to wail about. If it hurts that badly, get Mama to put a band-aid on it."

Gino wiped some tears off his cheek and left sadly.

* * *

Hours later, when Gino was in bed, Bob was still sitting in more-or-less the same position when he felt slender arms wrap around his shoulders.

"Roberto, _amore_, I am feeling lonely," Francesca whispered in a sultry tone.

"I'll join you soon, _mia cara_," Bob mumbled, not looking at her.

* * *

Francesca was alone all night, missing the doting father and passionate husband that her Roberto used to be, and her already strong hatred of the Simpsons was steadily increasing. Bob's desire for vengeance on them, especially Bart, seemed to have completely consumed him, leaving him to consider Francesca and Gino as now merely accomplices at best, and afterthoughts or hindrances at worst.

Alright, maybe things would have been better if Francesca hadn't convinced Bob to pursue his vendetta, but it was the Simpsons' own fault! She and Bob had tried to be hospitable, and the thanks they'd received was having their lives ruined by a drunken little girl!

Stroking the empty side of her double bed, Francesca hoped that once the Simpsons were dead, the man she'd fallen in love with would come back.


	5. 70-Disgust

Bob squirmed while sitting between two of his sweaty cellmates in the overcrowded, stuffy prison cell and licked his dry mouth. The prison water was even more vile than the rest of Springfield's water supply, so there was only one thing that could provide moisture to Bob's poor, chapped lips. Reaching into his pocket for his salvation, he found that it wasn't there.

"Who took my chap stick?"

"Oh, I did," said the man next to him, passing it back. "Here ya go."

Bob shuddered. "_I don't want it."_

* * *

As the police car drove away from Shelbyville's Best Western, Bob's lips were feeling chapped again. He felt his pocket as best he could while wearing handcuffs, but noticed that it was gone.

"Who took my chap stick?"

"Oh, I did," said Lou. He started to hand back the tube of cherry chap stick, but Chief Wiggum grabbed it.

"Thanks, Lou. Ralphie ate mine."

Bob was forced to spend the rest of the ride back to Springfield listening to all the stories about the various things that little Ralph Wiggum had consumed.


	6. 22-Knife (Preference)

_Had to slightly change the title of this one, since "Knife" isn't really an emotion._

* * *

Having decided to take Lenny Leonard's advice and simply cut Bart's throat, Bob crept into Bart's room while the boy was brushing his teeth, and lay in wait behind the door. While imagining the impending murder, he remembered the time he'd come into Bart's room on the houseboat while wielding a machete, and the other time that he'd held a switchblade to Bart's neck on the Wright Brothers' plane. It was sort of darkly amusing that a little boy who'd just been kidnapped by his mortal enemy and in imminent danger could care that bugs were getting stuck in his teeth.

Bob decided that his preference was for the carving knife that he currently had, but couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe it was easier to carry than the machete, yet not too small, or maybe it just appealed to his more theatrical side.

* * *

While Homer and Bart were having their little sappy moment after Homer tucked Bart in, Bob briefly considered not going through with this...but dismissed the thought as being a lingering side-effect of the rhino tranquilizers from this afternoon.


	7. 97-Dealing

_Inspired by a deleted scene from "The Great Louse Detective", where Marge makes Bob sleep in Maggie's room because "[they]'ve both tried to kill people"._

* * *

As if it wasn't bad enough to have a shock bracelet attached to his ankle, or to sleep in one of Bart's Krusty the Clown sleeping bags, and deal with cold feet since the thing was so short, early in the morning, Bob was awoken from a relatively sound sleep by the irritating noise of little Maggie Simpson sucking on her pacifier. Groaning, Bob sat up, and found Maggie wide awake and staring at him with a smug little smile that would not have looked out of place on the face of her big brother. Bob sleepily glared at her and squinted at the clock.

"Maggie, it's five in the morning, and I would like to get just a little more sleep. Could you please stop that noise, just for a little bit?"

Maggie smiled angelically through her pacifier and nodded.

"Thank you." Bob closed his eyes...and the noise started again.

"Please, Maggie, you're the only Simpson child I don't hate, and you would prefer that it stayed that way, wouldn't you?"

Maggie nodded.

"Then let me sleep."

When Maggie nodded again, Bob once again tried to go back to sleep...

_Suck, suck._

"Argh!" Bob sat up again and turned to face Maggie, who seemed unperturbed by his bared teeth and animalistic look in his eyes. "I don't care about getting shocked. If you don't stop that damned noise right now, Margaret Simpson, I'll-"

He gasped when he found the barrel of a gun on his chin, and quickly moved away.

"Now, Maggie," Bob said in a nervous, cajoling tone, "that's not for babies. Be a good girl and give the gun to Uncle Bob."

Bob reached out, but pulled his hand away when Maggie traced her tiny finger over the gun's trigger.

"Maggie, I'll make a deal with you: if you stop sucking on your pacifier for an hour or two, I won't tell your mother about your gun. Agreed?"

Maggie stuffed the gun back under her mattress and pulled out her pacifier.

"Thank you, Maggie."


	8. 4-Hate

_Inspired by my own wondering why Bob is so fixated on Bart._

* * *

Snake had once asked Bob why he hated Bart Simpson so much, and Bob actually couldn't come up with a simple answer.

Why _did _he hate Bart so? Sure, he'd foiled Bob's plans, but only on their first three encounters, and to a lesser extent, that last time at Five Corners. It would have made more sense for him to hate Krusty, Cecil, or Lisa. After all, Krusty had started all of this; if Bob had never been on Krusty's show, he never would have been humiliated enough to frame him for robbery, and he never would have met Bart. Cecil had tried to kill Bob and Bart, who had saved each other from him. Lisa had helped to trick Bob into confessing electoral fraud, and she'd exposed Bob's hiding place in the Duff blimp, and gotten drunk in Italy and revealed his past to the villagers, _and _figured out that Bob had faked his death.

But Bob had, for the most part, buried the hatchet with Krusty once the clown had sincerely apologized on what would have been his last show. As for Cecil, it didn't feel right to want to kill his own brother; he wouldn't stoop to Cecil's level, and he felt a mild, lingering protectiveness over his little brother. Lisa may have been a child, but she was a smart child, if highly smug and self-righteous.

For a highly educated and well-spoken, if insane, man, it felt the worst to be bested by an underachieving and mouthy prankster. _That _was why he hated Bart Simpson the most.


End file.
